Count to Ten

by Karen Rose

  After about a minute, the door opened and she stood there staring up at him, belligerence in her dark eyes, still red and puffy from crying. “What?”

  Gently he reached out to push some wet hair from her cheek. She flinched and pulled away, which hurt him more than her words had. “Beth. Please tell me what’s wrong. I can’t understand if I don’t know.”

  “It’s nothing. I’m just tired.”

  Helpless and frustrated, he frowned. “Are you sick? Do we need to see a doctor?”

  Her smile was bitter and far too adult. “Are you asking me if I need a shrink? Don’t think so, Dad. You’re the one who’s always saying what a crock they are.”

  He winced, her aim true. “I have said that. Maybe I shouldn’t have. Maybe there are lots of things I should do differently. I can’t know unless you talk to me, baby.”

  Her eyes flashed. “I’m not a baby.” Then her eyes went sad, but he could see the slyness beneath. “You could let me go to the sleepover. That would make me happier.”

  He stepped back, the hair on the back of his neck standing straight up. This wasn’t his child. This manipulating stranger belonged to somebody else. “No. I said you were on restriction and nothing you’ve said makes me change my mind. In fact, just the opposite. I don’t know what’s so important about this sleepover, but no, you cannot go. Starting now, I don’t want you going over to Jenny’s anymore.”

  Her nostrils flared, her breath deliberate. “You’re blaming her. She said you would.” She stepped back, her hand on the door. “Are you finished ruining my life?”

  He shook his head, having no words. “Beth. I have to go out for a few minutes. We’ll finish this when I come back.”

  “Don’t bother,” she said coldly. “I’ll be asleep when you come back.” Then she closed the door in his face.

  He shoved his hand through his hair, cupping the back of his head as if to hold it in place. What was wrong with his child? Was it just a temper tantrum? Or could it be more? Something... worse? But he couldn’t believe that. Beth was a smart girl. A good kid. She was only fourteen. But he knew what fourteen-year-olds could get involved in, from personal experience. But this was Beth. She wasn’t the kid of an alcoholic drug-addict who cared more for her next fix than feeding her son.

  Beth was lucky. She has me. He sighed. And right now, she hates me. He didn’t know what to do. He felt like breaking down her door, but knew that wouldn’t solve a thing. He needed help. He’d call her guidance counselor first thing in the morning.

  Now he had to see a woman who would probably make him feel as welcome as his daughter just had. “You should just give it up, Solliday,” he muttered as he walked down the stairs and grabbed his coat. He passed Lauren coming across the front yard as he walked out. “I have to go out,” he snapped. “Beth’s in her room.”

  “Did you talk to her?” Lauren asked, a canvas book bag over one shoulder.

  “For all the good it did. I’m calling her school counselor tomorrow.”

  “That’s a good idea.”

  “I’ll be back later.” He stalked toward the SUV, churlish and embarrassed for it.

  “Reed?”

  He stopped. Didn’t turn around. “What?”

  “Take off the chain before you get there.”

  Without looking back he climbed in the SUV, pulled out of the driveway and around the block. Then he slowed down and pulled the chain from around his neck, stared at the ring in his palm, then carefully laid it in the console next to his seat. “Shit.”

  Thursday, November 30, 8:45 P.M.

  There she was. He came to his feet in the alley across the street, slinging his backpack onto his back. It paid to travel light. If he had to run, he had everything he needed. The car he’d taken was parked a block away, close enough to get to once he’d done the deed. Then Melvin Getts would be on the news. Not me.

  Mitchell was getting out of her car across the street, a briefcase on one shoulder. She stood for a moment, alert, scanning the area, but he was tucked out of her sight in the shadows. She was a perfect target, her head in just the right position. His hand steady, he pointed the gun. From this -distance, he couldn’t miss. He aimed—

  An SUV pulled up beside her, blocking his shot. Dammit. Lieutenant Solliday.

  Solliday lowered his window and they were talking, but not loudly enough for him to hear what they were saying. Solliday sat back, scanning the street as she had done.

  Shit. She was going up to her apartment. Who knew when she’d come back down? It could be two minutes or twenty. Hell, it could be all night. He had places to go. Doughertys to kill. He couldn’t stay here waiting for her. Dammit. It was now or never. It was now. He stepped out of the shadows and raised the pistol. And fired.

  “Police! Drop your weapon.”

  He lurched back. The shout hadn’t come from Mitchell or Solliday. Mitchell was nowhere to be seen and Solliday was out of his vehicle, his own gun drawn. Shit.

  He backed up, one step, then two. His heart stopped when Solliday spotted him.

  “Stop.” Solliday was coming at a run. A fast run.

  Get away. He turned and fled.

  Mia pushed herself to her feet, her radio in one hand, weapon in the other. “Shots fired at 1342 Sedgewick Place. Plainclothes officer in pursuit. Request backup ASAP.”

  She stood in the street, making her mind focus through the adrenaline blur. Someone had yelled, right after the shot was fired, but the street was empty. She pressed the radio to her forehead, then back to her mouth. “Solliday.” When he didn’t answer panic began to grip her throat and she began to run. “Solliday.”

  “I’m here.” His voice came crackling across the radio and she stopped, breathing hard, light-headed with relief. “I lost him,” he growled. “Get an APB out on White.”

  She froze. “What?”

  “White. Math Boy. Hurry, Mia. He’s still on foot around here somewhere.”

  He tried to kill me. “This is Detective Mitchell, Homicide. We are in pursuit of a Caucasian male, approximately twenty-three years of age. Five-eight, one hundred fifty pounds. Blond hair, blue eyes. Suspect is armed and wanted in connection with four murders. Goes by the name of Devin White. Repeat, suspect is armed.”

  “We read you, Detective,” Dispatch said. “Do you need medical attention?”

  “No. Just send backup. We need to seal off this entire neighborhood. He escaped on foot, so send a unit to the El station two blocks south of here.” She looked up to see -Solliday emerging from the alley at a jog. He stopped short, eyes going fierce.

  “You’re hit.”

  She lifted her hand to her cheek, wiped at the blood there. “Grazed me. I’m fine.”

  He lifted her chin, nodded once, then let her go. “Who yelled ‘Police’?”

  “Don’t know.” She turned in a circle, looking. “That was Math Boy? You’re sure?”

  He nodded, still breathing hard. “Yeah. Fast little bastard. I almost had him and he darted around some trash cans and knocked them into my path.”

  “You were pretty fast yourself.”

  “Not fast enough. He’s given us the slip again.”

  “We’ll set up roadblocks.” Her instinct said someone was still there. “But the El is only two blocks from here. He could be there now. He could still be here. Dammit, I feel like somebody’s watching...” A noise behind her had her spinning around, her weapon in a two-handed grip. “Come out with your hands up.”

  “I’ll be damned,” Solliday murmured and Mia blinked.

  From out of the shadows, near where White had escaped walked... her. Her blonde head was covered with a black beret and instead of the dark suit she’d worn at the press conference, she wore a black leather jacket, identical to the one Mia had been wearing the night Abe was shot. Her lips were curved in a self-mocking smile. In one hand she held a -pistol, but flat against her raised palm. The other hand held a badge.

  Mia blew out a breath. “God, this day just keeps getting
better and better.”

  Thursday, November 30, 9:15 P.M.

  He got off the El two stops later and walked right to a little Ford, his slim-jim in his hand. A wiggle and a pop later he was behind the wheel and thirty seconds after that, driving down the road, his backpack on the seat beside him.

  Once again out of the public eye. He’d sat on the train, wondering who was watching him, comparing his face to the photo they’d shown on the news. He’d been coolheaded, not shrinking into his seat but not meeting anyone’s eye. Normal.

  Had he got her? Was Mitchell dead, brains splattered all over the pavement? He wasn’t sure. His bullet had come close. But he’d come too close to getting caught, that was for damn sure. Solliday had seen him. Recognized him. His ruse had failed.

  So step back. Stay out of public for a while. Do what you need to do tonight and tomorrow, hightail it out of town. Find the last four, then you’re done.

  Thursday, November 30, 9:15 P.M.

  “Just put the gun down slowly,” Mia said.

  The woman did, placing her weapon gently on the sidewalk. “You got hit,” she said.

  Mia holstered her own service piece. “A scratch.”

  Two cruisers pulled up and Mia looked over her shoulder. Four more followed.

  “I’ll take care of it,” Solliday said. “I’ll get them organized in a roadblock.”

  “Thanks,” she murmured, then turned back to the woman. “Let’s have it.” She took the woman’s badge and held it up to the light. “Olivia Sutherland. Minneapolis PD.”

  Sutherland’s mouth curved, that same self-mocking smile. “Hey, sis.”

  Mia gave her back her badge. “Why didn’t you just come talk to me? Why have you been following me around for weeks? Are you trying to make me fucking nuts?”

  “I wasn’t trying to make you... nuts. I didn’t know if I wanted to talk to you. I didn’t know if I wanted to know you. I kind of thought I wouldn’t.”

  Mia waited a half beat before inclining her head. “And that would be because?”

  She shrugged. “He wanted you. Not me. Your mother. Not mine.”

  Mia blinked. Then laughed. “You’re kidding, right?”

  The mocking smile disappeared. “I wouldn’t dream of it.”

  Obviously someone had painted this woman a much rosier picture of Bobby Mitchell than he deserved. “Let’s start again. Olivia Sutherland, thank you for saving my ass.”

  The little smile came back. “I was hoping you’d noticed.”

  “Why did you?”

  She shrugged. “I didn’t want to like you. I wanted to hate your guts. But I watched you and realized I might have a few things wrong. I was set to leave this afternoon when I saw your address published in this morning’s paper.” She frowned. “You need to do something about that woman, you know. That Carmichael woman is poison.”

  “Yeah. I kind of got that. So... you’ve been hanging here all day?”

  “Off and on. Mostly on. I thought if you came home, I’d say hi and good-bye. But you don’t come home very often.”

  “I know. I usually hang at friends’ houses.”

  “The redhead at the funeral?”

  “She’s one. Look, I want to talk to you, but I’ve got to take care of this.” She gestured over her shoulder to where Solliday had a map spread out on the hood of one of the cruisers, setting up the roadblocks.

  Sutherland smiled. “When things settle down, we can talk.”

  When things settle down. Suddenly the phrase smacked Mia in the face. She’d lost too many things because she’d waited for things to settle down. Now here was an opportunity that might not come again. “No, because they never will. How old are you?”

  Sutherland blinked. “Twenty-nine.” Then she smiled. “You’re rude to ask.”

  Mia smiled back. “I know. Can you stick around for a few more days?”

  “No. I had some time saved up, took some leave, but my captain is after me to come back. I have to go home.”

  “Just another day. Please. I didn’t know you existed until three weeks ago. We obviously have a few things in common, besides Bobby. Where are you staying?”

  Sutherland studied Mia’s face, then nodded. “Mother moved to Minnesota after I was born, but my aunt still lives here. I’m staying with her.” She scrawled an address and a phone number on the back of her card. “I know where you live.”

  “Not for a few days. I’ll be on the move most likely. But here’s my cell.” She gave Sutherland a card, watched her pocket it, then thoughtfully raise her eyes.

  “I lived my life wishing I was you. Hating you. You’re not who I thought you’d be.”

  “Sometimes I even surprise myself,” Mia said wryly. “Now we’re going to have to take your statement. The guy you scared off has killed four women.”

  Her blue eyes widened and it was like looking into a mirror. “Then that’s... ?”

  Little sister read the papers. “Yeah. Come on. Let’s get to work.”

  Thursday, November 30, 10:00 P.M.

  Math Boy was gone. Reed silently fumed as he watched the police go door to door. So close. He’d come so close. He could see the bastard’s leering face. His triumphant grin when he knew he’d gotten away. If he’d been another step faster...

  “If you keep frowning like that, your face will stay that way,” Mia said and leaned against his SUV next to him.

  “I had him in my hands.” He gritted his teeth. “Dammit. I almost had him.”

  “‘Almost’ only counts in hand grenades and horseshoes,” she said. “We’re wasting our time, Reed. He’s not going to stick around here. He’s gone.”

  “I know,” he said bitterly.

  “I’m wondering why he did this at all. Why me?”

  Reed shrugged. “We’re getting close and he knows it. Besides, if he knows your address, he also knows you were shot at Tuesday night.”

  She lifted her fingers to her cheek where an EMT had placed two stitches to close the skin the bullet had grazed. “A distraction.”

  “Mia!”

  As one they turned to find Jack by the door of her apartment building. He held a bullet in the palm of his hand. “If he’d been a fraction of an inch more on target...”

  As it had multiple times in the last hour, Reed’s blood went cold. A fraction of an inch more and the bullet would have plowed into the base of her skull rather than skim the surface of her cheek. A fraction of an inch and he might have lost her.

  “Yeah, yeah,” she said. “I’d be dead. Thanks, Jack.”

  “Actually,” Jack said dryly, “it probably would have bounced off your damn hard head. Sometimes I wish you weren’t so lucky. You’re starting to think you are bulletproof. And you’re not.”

  No, she wasn’t. Reed swallowed back the fear that rose in his throat every time his mind replayed the scene of her dropping to the pavement. “Jack, we’re beat. Can Mia pack her bag and get out of here?”

  Jack eyed him shrewdly and Reed knew the phone calls between Abe and Aidan and Jack hadn’t just been about trading phone numbers. “Yeah. Watch her back until she gets... to where she’s going.”

  They all looked around at that, each one realizing that the walls potentially had ears.

  “I will.” Reed held open the door to her apartment building. “Let’s get your bag packed.” He waited until she’d unlocked her front door, then pushed her inside and up against the door, his heart pounding. He covered her mouth with his, too hard and too desperate. But in a second it didn’t matter because her arms were around his neck and she was kissing him back, just as hard and just as desperate.

  He pulled away, breathing as hard as he had when he’d chased the scum-sucking murdering asshole toad. “Thanks. I needed that,” she whispered.

  He rested his forehead on hers. “Dammit, Mia. I was so...”

  She drew a breath. “Yeah. Me, too.”

  He stepped back and she looked up at him, awareness in her eyes. “Pack fast. I want you out of
here.” Then, unable to resist, he cupped her cheek and gently traced his thumb below the stitches. “I want you, period. Come home with me.”

  “I don’t seem to have a choice.” One side of her mouth tipped up. “That was a lousy thing to do, manipulating me like that. Putting Lauren out of her own house.”

  His thumb moved to her lower lip, fanning back and forth. “Technically, it’s my house. She just rents.” He paused a half beat. “The guest room on that side has a really comfortable bed. King size. Firm mattress.”

  “Mine’s firm enough,” she said blandly, but her eyes darkened. “What else?”

  “Well... There is the firepole. And the trapeze. And the trampoline.”

  She laughed. “You win. I’ll pack.”

  He followed her back to her bedroom. It looked like a tornado had gone through, sheets and blankets in a tangled mess on the floor. Just as they’d left them early this -morning. He eyed the bed, then her. She was eyeing it, too. Then shook her head.

  “No,” she said. “Not with half of CSU combing the street outside my window.”

  Hurriedly and without fuss she stuffed a duffel bag with the things she’d need, then hesitated, her hand on a small framed photo. Two teenage girls smiled brightly for the camera, but even though they stood close, they didn’t touch. “You and Kelsey?”

  “Yeah.” She shoved it in the bag. “I need to tell her about Olivia, but I’m afraid to visit her in the new place. I’m afraid to even know where it is.”

  “So...” He hooked a finger under her chin, lifted her face. It was the first time she’d mentioned the woman other than to take her statement and wish her a pleasant evening. Jack had figured out who she was, but Reed knew Mia wasn’t anxious to broadcast the woman’s identity to every uniform within earshot. “Tell me about Olivia.”

  She shrugged. “You know everything I do. We’re going to try to get together for an hour tomorrow night and talk.” She started to shoulder the bag, but he took it from her.

  “Let me. Please,” he added when her eyes flashed. It was so hard for her to accept help in any form. Tough. She’d have to learn to accept his.

  For how long? That would depend on the conversation they’d have as soon as he got her back to his house. That would depend on her expectations. Right now, he was praying he hadn’t misjudged her need for independence. And strings.